Stupid, inexplicable, but inevitable
by gubbochrubs
Summary: Ames/Guerrero fans only! It's my take on Guerrero's reactions and thoughts when he first encounters Ames - together with Ames' perspective in the aftermath. No loveydoveyness/ clear resolution because I think it'd be pretty OOC. Please review!
1. Manhandled

Hello! This is my first time writing an Ames/ Guerrero fic, although I've pretty much been obsessed with them since he punched her lights out (weird, I know) and interrogated her. I've always wondered what would happen if you took that insanely explosive mix of the usual annoyed-mentor/ enthusiastic-mentee dynamic and the fact that Guerrero's so hardcore (but still human!) while Ames is so childish and pushed it slightly – just slightly – over the edge! Anyhow, heads up: I'm afraid there won't be any clear resolution/ great romance/ etc because I really can't see that happening and I'm always vexed when characters seem, well, OUT of character. I hope you like my take. REVIEW whether or not you do! (:

CHAPTER 1

When he first meets her, she's nothing but another mark. Sure, a devilishly sexy mark in the kind of dress that falls into a category of his weaknesses – rare and known to absolutely no one but him – but a mark, nonetheless. He punches her lights out without a second thought, throws her carelessly into the backseat of the Eldo, strongarms her into the interrogation chair and ignores her cry of pain when he cuffs her a few notches too tight. At first she's nothing but foolish nonchalance, and it's then that he realizes exactly how young – and green – this thief is. Doesn't change anything, however, because Guerrero is Guerrero, and he's got a job to do. He hates it, however, that when he points his .38 revolver at her left kneecap, he knows that he's not going to do it because, well, firstly, she'll definitely cave in before he even has to seriously consider pulling the trigger, and secondly, because those knees of hers, hell, that body of hers is too perfect to ruin. At least, not yet. But just to be sure he makes sure the safety's off. She caves, just like he predicts.


	2. Questions

She proves to be the most annoying appendage almost immediately. Their skills complement each other, and when Chance suggests that they go to dig up the dirt on Haust, Guerrero knows he can't argue otherwise. He mutters a "whatever, dude," and leaves. She's hot on his heels, her mouth spewing out a whole bunch of useless questions, _where are we going? How are we getting there? By "lean on him", did Chance want you to torture this Haust guy? Can I watch? _He all but tunes her out, opening the door to the street, thinking that maybe he should have just shot her in the head after the Pucci job. He rummages for his keys, and when they reach the Eldo, _she_ pulls them out of _her_ jacket pocket, dangles them from her index finger and insists she's driving. "If you ever, and I mean _ever-_" he's got her pressed up against the car, his arm making sure her arm is far from comfortable twisted behind her back, "pickpocket me _again_," her protests against the force he's exerting on her arm are getting louder, "you're going to regret it." She hastily agrees, that stupid mouth of hers again working overtime with apologies, and he lets go. He has no idea how the hell she ends up driving anyway, her smiling happily, like as if she would take anything he decided to dole out, any time. Maybe it was the way she had begged him to let her drive "this fucking fantastic car", or had promised that she was a "careful, real careful driver". Or maybe she was just stupid, and he had pitied her. Yeah. He liked the second option better.


	3. Bar

She cramps his style in every way possible. Exhibit A: He's questioning Faust, taking the rare opportunity to exert pressure in a non-literal sense, and he's just about to get the information, _just, about, to, get, the, information_, when suddenly she plops down right next to Faust. She starts talking, playing some ridiculous role as his girlfriend – seriously, his _girlfriend, _who would buy that? – who's mock angry at him for leaving her waiting in the car, and he leans forward and tells her to get the hell out. He knows exactly what she's doing, and he doesn't appreciate it, and especially not when she snaps back, "yeah, pretend you're not the luckiest guy in this whole bar". Faust is suddenly looking at him in a whole new light with eyes that say _whoa I never knew you got _this_ kind of around_, and damn it, he can feel the eyes of practically everyone else in the bar on him. When he finally leaves after she does, a patron sitting near the door makes the mistake of suggestively wiggling his eyebrows at him. Guerrero aims a swift punch in the center of the unlucky fellow's forehead – right between the offending eyebrows – and walks out. Lenient, considering the circumstances.


	4. Saved

Exhibit B: the lawyer/ banker. Halfway while doing his job, she steps in, again mouthing off, spouting some garbage about some dude named Jay-D, or Jay-B, or whatever, and basically just wasting time. He's this close to doing something uncharacteristic like kneading the pounding blood vessels in his forehead (usually he'd never have to do that because generally, well, people who put him in such a state end up in a meat grinder, just like the last one). "Save your speeches for Malcolm X, alright?" He tells her to get his tools from the car, repeating it twice – another rare thing for him – but suddenly, a shard of glass is on the floor, and they're both looking up. He's a split second from pulling out the jack knife he's got in his pocket and dead-aiming it to whichever unlucky hitman is up on the roof when suddenly there's a gunshot, he's on the ground, his arms full of something heavy, his entire body flush with whatever's clutching him. The second he realizes what happened he's pushing her off of him, ignoring her complaining. The lawyer/banker's dead. He tells her off all the way back to the office, breaking only to call Winston and tell him the news. When he ends the call he glances at her, ready to continue his admonishing, and that's when he notices that her eyes are brimming and she's clutching the steering wheel of the Eldo so tight that her knuckles are white. He stays silent for the rest of the car ride.


	5. Guilt

It gnaws at him, and while he's a mask of usual jackassness and nonchalance on the outside, on the inside there seems to be a damned rat or something chewing at him that gets to him. She's still sulking, ignoring him, but still he ignores her right back on cue. But when they have to go out again, she lingers in the boardroom, and he finds himself opening his mouth: "you coming?" She turns to him and replies with a typical, "where?" He half rolls his eyes, striding out again without another word, and although this time he actually gets to the lift before she finally caves in, he finds himself tossing the keys to her when they step out at the bottom. And when they get to the bar, he finds himself opening a bar tab for her. "Stop smiling," he snaps, but there's no real malice in his words and both of them know it. She can't stop smiling, and he – well, he would never admit it, and even torture couldn't get it out of him, but – well, he's relieved, too.


	6. Goodbye

It took time. It sure didn't happen the instant she meets him, because he punches her lights out. It sure didn't happen when he was interrogating her either, no, not even when she finds out who he is and starts to panic. She can't put her finger on it, but it happened sometime between then and now. All those little things. Him letting her drive the Eldo. Him giving her hell for 'protecting' him. Him opening up a bar tab for her. Him unapologetically manhandling her whenever she got in his way. His bossy, nonchalant, jackass attitude. Damn it, why did it always have to be the bad boys? Why couldn't she just settle for some gentlemanly college graduate who'd put hot food on the table and promise her a stable forever instead of – well, _whatever_ this was? Maybe she needed to get her head checked.

At some point in time, she realizes that it's no longer just the idol worship that it was in the beginning. It's something inexplicable, something bizarre, something out of her control. Whatever it is, it happens every time he enters the room, every time he bosses her around. Every time his skin brushes hers by accident. Every time she _sees _him, damn it. It takes her a grand total of two months for her to discover what it is, following which it takes her exactly one day to pack her bags and leave. Ilsa asks her why. _Why, you ask_, she thinks. Well, firstly, she knows that this isn't going to go away, at least not if she stays. As much as she's light-hearted as air on the outside, she knows when even she herself can't mess with what's inside her head. This is one of those times. She's always been an all or nothing girl, and the baseline is that she simply can't work with someone who will never know, never care. She'd erupt sooner or later, and she'd rather not, thank you. He's got other things to do – people to kill, torture, marks to track, and to top it all off, a son. A _son, _for God's sakes. She refuses to admit how much it hurts her, how much it kills her to know that she could never properly be part of that equation. His equation. _Why, she asks? It's just better to leave right now once and for all than see the single person I can never have every, single, day._

She tells Ilsa that she's going to join Brody, because she knows it's an explanation no one can question. She hugs Ilsa and Chance goodbye, kisses old fuddy-duddy Laverne on the cheek, and steps into the lift for the last time. She doesn't bother saying goodbye to him. And a note? Please, he just isn't the kind of person a girl leaves a note for. I mean, really, how stupid would that make her look? He'd probably be more appreciative if she refilled his supply of Windex.

Like every other successful crook, she's always believed in a clean getaway – and this is no exception.


End file.
